


The Laws of Supply and Demand

by MotherOfMonsters



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Head Injury, Infertility, Kidnapping, Major Character Injury, Multi, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 08:08:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5283236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherOfMonsters/pseuds/MotherOfMonsters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When male fertility suddenly drops to 0.1% of the human population, Wilson Fisk moves into a new and lucrative business.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“How is he this morning?” Wesley asked as he entered the basement facility.  
  
“Charming as ever,” Harry answered, flipping a switch on the instrument panel in front of him. He held down a button on the panel, and then spoke into the microphone. “The bathroom door is open now, Matt.”  
  
On the large monitor in front of them, they watched as Matt listlessly rolled himself off the bare bed and said, “Thanks, Harry. Can I have the radio on?”  
  
“Sure, what channel?” He asked over the comm.  
  
“News. Something local.”  
  
“One of these days you'll surprise me and ask for sports.”  
  
Matt grinned, then paused at the padded door. “Never gonna happen.”  
  
The view on the monitor changed to a camera inside the bare shower stall, as Matt entered, stripped off his black T shirt and sweat pants, then stepped under the steaming spray.  
  
“Quiet night?” Wesley asked, as he perched on the edge of the control desk.  
  
“Nothing on the logs,” Harry replied, as he punched at his keyboard and selected a news channel to stream over the speakers built into the ceiling of the padded cell. “Looks like he slept right through.”  
  
“That's good news at least,” Wesley replied.

  
  
  
  
“Report,” Wesley said, as he folded his hands together and placed them on the flat surface of the folding table.  
  
Matt let out a humourless snort and ran his hands through his damp hair.  
  
“Matthew, why do you have to make this more difficult than it needs to be?” Wesley asked with a sigh.  
  
“Oh, believe me, this isn't _half_ as difficult as I can make it,” Matt replied, leaning back in his chair.

 

-*-

   
  
Matt had been almost co-operative at first, once he had been properly subdued.  
  
When male fertility dropped to almost zero without reason and the government had offered substantial financial rewards to any still fertile male to come forward and donate to a national sperm bank, they hadn't bet on someone from the private sector making those men significantly more substantial offers.  
  
It had actually been Wesley's idea to move into this new market. They had been in the middle of clearing out tenement blocks, in between waging a war against a masked vigilante and a woman who just wouldn't quit being a thorn in their sides, when this new opportunity had presented itself.  
  
It quickly became clear that this business was going to be more profitable than anything they had ever encountered before. Unlike drugs, where supply could be upped to meet demand until the market was flooded, fertile semen was so rare that they could set their own price, and people were still so desperate for children that no matter how high they pushed the price they would still pay it.  
  
Fisk quickly ended all his other business enterprises. His plans to improve Hell's Kitchen were forgotten, and he ended his associations with all the crime syndicates he was doing business with.  
  
With his catalogue of willing and handsomely paid donators, Fisk soon had enough money to invest heavily in his business, and built his own tower block, named after himself, in the centre of Hell's Kitchen. Offices, an insemination clinic and a sperm bank were built on the lower floors, while higher up the building Fisk created luxury apartments for the fertile men, to ensure no other operation would tempt them away.  
  
Fisk's business was entirely legal now, but it wouldn't stay that way.  
  
There were a few publicly minded individuals who had refused all offers, preferring instead to go with the government initiative, but when demand outstripped supply, Fisk issued orders for those men to be picked up off the street and placed in a newly built secure basement facility, where no one would ever find them.  
  
They only ever successfully found one man, and that was Matthew Murdock.

  
  
  
  
He put up a hell of a fight for a blind man, and it didn't take them long to put two and two together and realise that the person they had locked in a cell was in fact the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. Fisk had wanted to put a bullet in his head straight away, but Wesley persuaded him on an entirely different course of action, once he had explained the financial advantage of keeping him alive.  
  
At first they merely observed; watching how his unusual abilities worked, and then brought in a doctor to surgically remove his left ear drum. They weren't sure it would work, but Matt had howled when he came round from the anaesthetic, and flung himself off the bed. He stumbled round the room, tripping over a chair, and collapsed onto his hands and knees on the floor.  
  
When Wesley entered the room and Matt took a swing at him, his punch swinging wide by six inches, he knew they had won.

They had tamed the Devil.

  
  
  
  
They kept it secret at first, but soon a few select, trusted clients were offered an opportunity.

Instead of choosing the father of their child based on family history of illness or hair and eye colour, they were offered a chance to have their child fathered by a unique individual. One with special talents, who was fit, strong, and brave. What parent would choose the human equivalent of a pony to be the father of their child, when they had a derby winner in their stable?  
  
Matt's semen sold for five times more than any other man at the facility, once they had finally convinced him that co-operation was a _lot_  better than being hit with an industrial cattle prod until his skin was seared with burns and he was writhing breathless on the floor.  
  
For six months business was good. They were bringing in monthly what their previous criminal activities had generated in a year, and apart from the man they had held in their basement, everything in the operation was legal and above board.  
  
And then a new client had come to Wesley with a proposition. He was a crown prince of a small country, and he had heard through his close associates that they had the devil at their disposal. The prince was distrustful, and wouldn't believe their claims until he saw Matt with his own eyes, and then he announced that he would pay ten times the going rate for a live insemination.

  
  
  
  
Matt had refused point blank, and even with his back a weeping mess of cattle prod burns, he had refused, until Fisk appeared in his cell and gave him a simple choice.  
  
“You will go in that room and fuck that woman,” he said. “If you don't, _I_  will fuck you until you bleed.”  
  
Matt had relented, and suddenly they had a waiting list of rich customers who wanted live inseminations.

Within a year the money they had earned from Matt had paid for the entire building costs of Fisk Towers.

  
  
Wesley had delivered the rules to prospective parents so often he recited them by rote.  
  
“When you are ready, press the buzzer on your left. The door will open and Matthew will enter. He will be ready and it will not take him long, so be prepared for that. And most importantly, whatever you do, do _not_ touch him. The last person who did that left without their teeth.”  
  
“I-is this safe?” one of the parents would usually stutter.  
  
“As long as you follow the rules everything will be fine. We have built in safety measures and a team just outside, simply as a precaution, should you fail to follow the rules.”  
  
For the first year Wesley had watched Matt's appointments with the dispassionate eye of someone watching a financial transaction. Truth be told, there was actually very little of interest to watch, as it was usually over so fast. When the buzzer sounded, Matt would stand on his side of the door with his hand down his pants, then he would push to door open and walk into the room like a boxer entering a ring. In less than a minute he would always be back in his own room, stalking around the bed until the door to the shower was opened.  
  
It all changed when Fisk  & Vanessa decided they wanted a child.  
  
“You know the rules, sir?” Wesley had asked outside the appointment room.  
  
“Rules?” Fisk asked amusedly. “He belongs to me. I want the cameras off and I don't want any interruptions.”  
  
“Sir, if he should become violent-”  
  
“ _IF_ he becomes violent,” Fisk interrupted, “I will handle it myself.”  
  
Four hours later Fisk and Vanessa had emerged from the room laughing, and the medical team had dragged Matt's unconscious body back to his cell.  
  
The same thing happened for the next 2 days.  
  
After that everything had gone to hell.


	2. Chapter 2

“Report, Matthew,” Wesley said again, sternly.  
  
“I'm _fine_ ,” Matt snapped back.  
  
“Do you need anything?” Wesley asked.  
  
“You could give me the day off?” Matt suddenly asked.  
  
“Matthew, you know that isn't possible.”  
  
Matt ran his hands over his face, and asked, “So how many many times am I going to get fucked today?”  
  
“You have one appointment today,” Wesley replied.  
  
“ _Great_ ,” Matt replied bitterly.  
  
The intercom crackled into life, and Harry announced, “Breakfast's here.”  
  
“Send it in,” Wesley replied loudly.  
  
Harry wheeled the trolley through the door and set the plates out on the table, placing plastic cutlery either side of it, then wheeled the trolley back out.  
  
“Is it my birthday?” Matt asked as he sniffed the waffles.  
  
“Waffles and syrup, pomegranate juice, plain yoghurt & pumpkin seeds,” Wesley replied, crossing his legs. Matt was fed a strictly controlled diet, mostly consisting of vegetables and fruit, to ensure he received all the vitamins and minerals he needed, but Wesley had asked the chef to prepare something special that morning.  
  
Matt picked up his knife and fork and started to dig into the waffles, savouring then flavour, and then he paused. “You wouldn't bring me food like this unless something was going on.”  
  
Wesley closed his eyes for a moment, smoothing a finger tip over one eyebrow, as he sighed. There was no way to sugar coat this. “Vanessa wants another baby.”  
  
“No!” Matt shouted, as he slammed the knife and fork down onto the flimsy table. “You _know_ what they did to me last time!”  
  
“I know what they did, Matthew, but I'm afraid we don't have any choice.”  
  
“ _We?_ ” Matt shouted, as he jumped out of his chair, sending it skittering backwards across the floor.  
  
Wesley was out of his chair in seconds, with one hand outstretched. Keeping his voice low and calm, he said, “Matthew, you need to _calm down_. You know what happens when you get angry.”  
  
Matt stalked furiously round the room, his hands locked in his hair, then he circled back round, and with a roar he grabbed the edge of the table and flipped it across the cell.  
  
Wesley backed against the wall, and said, “Harry, calming measures please.”  
  
“No. _NO!_ ” Matt wailed, then the room was filled with sound as a loud alarm blared and multiple jets of pressurised white gas erupted into the room from the ceiling.  
  
When the overhead fans cleared the smoke, Matt was writhing on the floor, his eyes wide, and his hands clamped to the sides of his head.  
  
Wesley moved over to him, and said, “I'm going to touch you now, Matthew.” He placed his hands on Matt's shoulders and dragged him upright so he was leaning against the edge of the bed. “I'm sorry, but they are coming today and there's nothing I can do about it.”  
  
“I can't. I-I can't,” Matt stuttered. “Please. Don't let them do that to me again.”  
  
“If you'd just co-operate and don't fight him, maybe it won't be like last time.”  
  
Matt let out a soft, mirthless laugh, and said, “That's what I did last time and you saw how that ended.” He placed a hand on Wesley's arm, and begged, “ _Please_ , you have to stop them.”  
  
Wesley swallowed. When he had gone to Fisk and stated that he saw a new trade opportunity opening up, he had never imagined it would end like this. Of all the brutal beatings and executions he had seen Fisk dish out over the years, this was the slowest and most agonising death Wesley had ever witnessed.  
  
“I really wish I could,” Wesley said softly.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“Report,” Wesley stated calmly.  
  
Matt was sat on the edge of his bed, one arm wrapped defensively around his chest and the other between his legs. His eyes were open, mottled bruising bright on one cheekbone, impassively staring ahead of him, but he gave no indication that he had even heard the question.  
  
“Matthew,” Wesley said sternly, and his head jerked up. “Where are you injured?”  
  
“I'm fine,” he stated blankly.  
  
“Broken bones?”  
  
“Two ribs.”  
  
“Are you bleeding inside?”  
  
Matt cocked his head to one side, then replied, “Yes.”  
  
“On your side.”  
  
Matt obediently laid down, drawing his knees up to his chest. He knew the drill by now.  
  
Wesley looked away when the doctor snapped on latex gloves, he tried not to listen to the sound of the cap popping off the bottle of lube, nor Matt's pained intake of breath a few seconds later.  
  
“Is it bad?” he asked.  
  
“Minor tearing,” the doctor replied, as he snapped off his gloves and deposited them in the bin. “No need for stitches. I'll prescribe some salve and some pain meds, and have one of the nurses come down and tape his ribs, but other than that, he's good to go.”  
  
When the doctor left the room, Wesley scrubbed his hands through his hair and sighed. “Did you fight him?” he asked.  
  
“No,” Matt replied wearily, still curled in a ball on his side. “He said he'd see me tomorrow though.”  
  
Wesley thought for a moment. “Maybe I can pursued Wilson to stay out of it. Just let Vanessa into the appointment room.”  
  
“It wouldn't make a difference,” Matt sighed. “She's just as bad as him.”  
  
“I don't know what I can do,” Wesley said quietly.  
  
“With any luck he'll beat me to death tomorrow,” Matt said bitterly, turning over onto his other side, so his back was towards Wesley, indicating that this conversation was well and truly over.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“What's going on?” Wesley asked, as he burst into the room, wearing sweat pants and a rumpled T shirt. When he got the call he'd been sleeping in his suite upstairs, and had judged the situation serious enough that he didn't have time to change.  
  
“Nightmare,” Matt's night time watcher, David, replied, “And it's a bad one. He hasn't responded at all.”  
  
Wesley pressed the button on the control panel, and dragged the microphone to his mouth. “Matthew, I need you wake up now.”  
  
Wesley shouted twice more, then Matt seemed to still for a second, than sat bolt upright, screaming.  
  
“Open the door,” Wesley shouted.  
  
“I'm not going in there!” David barked. “Last time he was like this he broke my arm.”  
  
“Just open the god damn door,” Wesley shouted.  
  
The door slid open and Wesley strode into the room, stopping a foot away from Matt. He shouted, “Matthew, you're having a nightmare. You need to wake up now.”  
  
The screaming suddenly stopped, and Matt blinked a few times, his eyes roving sightlessly around the room.  
  
“Are you awake?” Wesley asked, and suddenly Matt was off the bed, dragging himself to the corner of the room like a wounded animal, where he curled up, shaking so hard that it looked like he might fall apart at any second.  
  
Wesley knelt by Matt, making sure that he was close enough that Matt could feel his familiar presence with whatever tattered senses he had left, but not close enough to touch him.  
  
He stayed there all night.


	3. Chapter 3

When Wesley woke, early the next morning, he was thankful for the evolution of Matt's cell and it's white padded walls and floor.

It had been designed simply as an inescapable, soundproof metal box, with a ceiling filled with surveillance cameras, speakers and the complicated dry ice and fan system they used every time their prisoner got out of hand.

For the first year it had served well enough, and Matt had been allowed a few shelves of possessions; some Braille books and a radio, as well as the table and chair where he had his meals.

After Fisk and Vanessa's first appointment Matt had smashed everything he could get his hands on, until only his bed was left. The debris was removed from the room and not replaced.

After Fisk's third appointment Matt had punched the steel walls of his cell until he had broken bones in both in both hands, and then he kept on punching. It had taken four guards to put him down that day, and the next day, when he woke up, he moved to one corner of his cell, then sprinted across the small space as fast as he could and rammed his head into the sheet metal.

Matt woke from his medically induced coma three days later, with a fractured skull and the walls of his cell padded with thick foam. He started screaming and didn't stop until they sedated him again.

 

 

“Morning, sir,” Harry called over the intercom. Then he jokingly said, “Can I take your breakfast order this morning?”

“What time is it?” Wesley asked, running his hands across the floor, looking for his glasses which had slipped off his face during the night.

“It's almost 8am,” Harry replied. “Bad night?”

“Very much so,” Wesley replied, as he climbed to his feet.

 

 

When Wesley returned to the cell an hour later, dressed in three piece suit, Matt was off the floor and laid on his bed, curled up on his side, as the radio played soft classical music.

“He requested this?” Wesley asked.

“No, I just thought it might make make him feel better,” Harry replied.

Wesley liked Harry. He was certainly a better watcher than David who worked the night shifts, who just seemed to be in it for the money. Harry actually  _cared_ about Matt, and had built up an odd easy going relationship with him, despite their situation. Wesley had frequently walked in on them in the middle of a debate about about something they had heard on the news, and he attributed the fact that Matt hadn't gone completely insane in the three years they'd helped him captive to Harry's friendship.

Wesley had come in early one morning about a year before and caught them in a conversation that he was pretty sure he wasn't meant to hear.

“I don't blame you, Harry.” Matt had said. “It isn't your fault.”

“But I'm part of it now. I'm helping them keep you here,” Harry said, his voice sounding clogged and thick with unshed tears.

“You didn't know what you were getting into,” Matt replied. “I know what Fisk is like, and I know what he'll do if you even  _think_ of letting me out.”

“But I-I could just open the door. Maybe we could say it was an electrical fault?”

“I won't leave,” Matt replied sternly. “You open that door and I won't move an inch out of this cell.”

“But, what if-”

“Harry,  _no_ ,” Matt interrupted. “You have a family, and believe me, he will kill every last one of them if you do  _anything_.”

“But I can't just let you die here,” Harry sobbed.

Matt was quiet for a moment, then quietly replied, “I came to terms with the fact that I'm going to die here a long time ago. You need to let it go.”

Wesley knew Matt was right. If Harry helped him escape Fisk would decimate every one he loved, and he hoped Harry was smart enough never to act on those impulses.

 

 

Wesley set up the small folding dining set in the cell, and when Matt made no effort to rise from the bed, he said, “Come over here Matthew, and sit down.”

Matt was immediately on his feet, trailing one hand over the edge of the bed as he moved over to the table. He reached out, fingers searching for the back of the chair, and gingerly sat down.

“You can bring it in now,” Wesley said. The door opened, as one of the guards brought in a tray, and set it down on the table.

As the guard left, Wesley arranged the plates in front of Matt, and said, “Fresh fruit, plain yoghurt, and pumpkin seeds, with pomegranate juice.”

Matt kept his hands by his sides, then said, “I don't want it.”

“Does something smell off?” Wesley asked.

“I'm not going to eat it.”

Wesley sighed, and said, “This again?”

“I'm not eating it,” Matt replied.

“If you want I can take this away, but you remember what happened last time you tried to starve yourself.” Wesley said, and then he looked over his shoulder towards the camera and said, “Harry, call up to medical and ask them to prepare the restraints and NG feeding kit.”

Matt's hands shot up and he grabbed the spoon, then began shovelling the yoghurt and fruit into his mouth as fast as he could.

Wesley didn't have the heart to remind him that Fisk and Vanessa had another appointment that day.

 

 

Wesley made a point of being in a completely different part of the building when Fisk & Vanessa had turned up for their appointment, but around 5 hours later he had received a frantic phone call from Harry begging him to come down to the basement level.

As the elevator doors swung open, Wesley heard a familiar voice.

“Wesley,” Vanessa said, with a light lilt in her voice. “How lovely to see you.”

Wesley nodded to Fisk, and said, “Sir, Vanessa, it's lovely to see you too.” He cleared his throat and said, “I trust Matthew was well behaved.”

Vanessa curled an arm around Wilson's back and leaned into him. “That boy is simply a delight.” She turned to Fisk, and said, “I don't know why we don't keep him all to ourselves.”

Wilson laughed. “Simple economics, as Wesley often tells me.”

“Wesley, you spoilsport,” Vanessa said, with a mocking pout.

“If you'll excuse me, sir, I have business to attend to,” Wesley said, as he stepped to the side, and allowed the couple to enter the elevator.

“You should stop by the penthouse tonight for dinner, Wesley,” Vanessa said.

“I will, ma'am, thank you for the invitation.”

Wesley breathed a sigh of relief as the doors closed, and then headed towards Matt's cell.

“What happened?” Wesley breathed, when he saw a group of people on the monitor.

Harry turned to him, his eyes wet as if he was trying not to cry. “It's bad.”

Wesley noticed the bloody hand print on the wall on the padding near the door from the appointment room, and asked, “What did they do to him?”

“T-they signalled for me to open the door. He made it back into his room, but then he just went down,” Harry babbled, stumbling over his words.

 

 

It took the medical staff an hour to clear the room, and another 30 minutes before Matt woke up. He stumbled around the room, disorientated, before settling in a corner, where he lay until the next morning, without sleeping.

The doctors had suggested that he be given at least three days off to recover.

Fisk didn't listen.

It took the medical team an hour to stitch up the internal damage he caused on his next appointment.

 

 

When Wesley came down to the basement level the next morning Fisk was there with a grin pulling at the edges of his mouth, as he observed Matt laying uncomfortably, face down on his bed.

Harry sat, straight backed, answering his questions politely, clearly intimidated by Wilson's presence.

“Do you have another appointment today, sir?” Wesley asked.

“No, no,” Fisk said with a wave of his hand. “Vanessa's fertile time has passed now. I was merely wondering how many appointments he had today.”

“The medical staff have removed him from duty for at least three days, sir,” Wesley replied.

“What?” Fisk asked. “I won't have him laying there costing me money. Have him donate. It will still sell for a high price, even if it is just for insemination.”

“We've tried that and he won't comply, especially now,” Wesley said.

“So use the electro-stim on him.”

Wesley saw Harry open his mouth to protest, and held a hand up, cutting him off. “But, sir, if I may, that tool isn't designed to be used on a conscious subject. We only use it on paralysed donators.”

Fisk's face filled with rage as he watched the monitor closely, and he said, “You will use it on him,  _without_ sedation, and maybe then he will learn his lesson about compliance.”

 

 

“Are you going to do this?” Wesley asked, holding the cup in gloved hands.

Matt was on his side on the bed, blankly ignoring everything that was going on around him.

“Are you going to do it yourself?” Wesley asked again. “Matthew, I swear, you have no idea just how much this will hurt if they make you do it.”

Matt blinked slowly, then reached up with a lazy hand and pulled down the back of his loose black pants.

Wesley turned to the E-stim team, and said, “Do it.”

As he walked to the door, Wesley could hear the team making their preparations, and then a gasp from Matt as the probe was eased into him.

The door closed, but Wesley could still hear the team talking over the intercom.

_“Have you got the sheath?”_

_“Ready.”_

_“OK, preparing to go to threshold, in three, two, one...”_

Wesley turned away from the monitor as Matt let out a pained cry.

_“What's the temperature?”_

_“Looking good.”_

_“Is the sheath in place?”_

_“We are good to go.”_

_“We'll start at level five and work our way up to level seven, but make sure you keep your eyes on the temperature, and be ready to shut down.”_

_“Will do.”_

_“OK, in three, two, one...”_

Matt let out a wailing scream like nothing Wesley had ever heard before, then there was a click as Harry turned off the audio.

Matt had to go through this again in eight hours time.

They had their orders.

 

 

After the second E-stim session Matt's stitches had been checked by a doctor at Wesley's insistence, and all seemed well.

He had refused to eat, but had gratefully drank down his pomegranate juice, followed by two bottles of water, so Wesley decided not to push the matter.

At about 10pm Wesley was still sitting in the control room, idly answering emails on his phone, when he looked up and noticed Matt was back in the corner of the room, curled up around himself. He didn't seem to be moving, so Wesley returned to his emails.

Half an hour later, with all his business for the day attended to, Wesley turned his attention back to Matt.

“What is he doing?” Wesley asked, looking closer at the monitor.

David, who had taken over from Harry for the night shift, looked up from his book, and said, “He looks fine to me.”

“No,” Wesley said. “He's doing something. Open the door.”

David pressed a button on the control panel, and Wesley quickly entered the room, and from this new angle he could see that Matt was sat in a puddle of fresh blood.

“What have you done?” Wesley shouted as he pulled Matt's bloody hand from inside his pants.

 

 

“Thank you for coming down, sir,” Wesley said, as Fisk swept imperiously into the room.

“You said you had an important matter to discuss?” Fisk asked, as he stood in front of the control panel, looking at the monitor.

“We need to discuss Matthew's mental state, sir,” Wesley said.

“You called me down here for that?” Fisk asked, gruffly.

“He's self harming again,” Wesley said. “And he's doing it in frankly bizarre ways. Last night it seems like he tried to castrate himself with his own  _fingernails_.”

“So restrain him.”

“I really don't think that's a good idea, sir. The medical staff have suggested he be allowed to rest for at least a week.”

“Absolutely not,” Fisk said loudly. “You more than anyone know how important he is to the financial success of this facility.”

“But if he loses his mind he isn't going to be able to work for us.”

“Then find a way,” Fisk said, jabbing his finger into Wesley's chest. “If you are so worried about him, do whatever it takes to make him work, but I want him back on active duty  _tomorrow_.”

Fisk walked out of the room, and Harry turned to Wesley. “That didn't go well.”

“No, it didn't,” Wesley replied.

“What are we going to do?”

Wesley took off his jacket, and laid it on the side of the control panel. “Open the door.”

Wesley walked into the room and stood by the bed, watching as Matt moved his head slightly, obviously aware of his presence.

“What do you want?” Matt asked.

“Just to talk,” Wesley said softly. “How do you feel?”

“Like I can still smell my own blood under my fingernails,” Matt replied.

“I'm worried about you, Matthew,” Wesley stated.

Matt laughed softly, and said, “Then maybe you should let me go, if you're that worried. It's the only thing that's going to prevent me from dying in here.”

“You know I can't do that. Fisk would lead a one man war against the world until he got you back.”

“I know,” Matt sighed.

“Is it alright if I touch you, Matthew?”

“What?” Matt asked. “Do you want to fuck me too?”

“I don't want anything from you at all. Is it alright?”

“Whatever,” Matt said, with a shrug.

“I need a yes or no answer.”

“OK, yes,” Matt said into the pillow.

Wesley laid his hand on Matt's shoulder, and gently squeezed, then relaxed his fingers. He didn't move. He didn't speak. He stood, hoping that Matt was getting some comfort from the simple gesture.

After a minute or so he felt the muscles under his hand relax, and he quietly said, “I saw your friend Nelson in the street two days ago.”

“Foggy,” Matt said quietly, and then he whispered it again. _“Foggy, Foggy, Foggy_.”

“He was hanging up 'Missing' posters with your face on them. He hasn't given up on you.”

“Giving up isn't Foggy's style,” Matt grinned.

“No, it certainly isn't.”

“He won't find me though,” Matt said quietly. “No one will.”

“No. They won't,” he sighed.

“Wesley?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think Fisk is going to kill me soon?” Matt asked.

“I honestly don't know,” Wesley replied quietly.

Matt moved, shooting up from the bed, and before Wesley could even react, Matt's arms were wrapped tightly round him, and his face was tucked into his neck. Wesley could feel wetness against his skin where Matt's cheek pressed against him, and the heat of his hitching breath against his collar.

Wesley raised his arms and wrapped them tightly around Matt's back.


	4. Chapter 4

“ _YOU._ ” 

A single word, spoken loudly, woke Wesley from a sleep he didn't even know he had fallen into.

He remembered Matt sobbing for what seemed like hours, until he could barely stay sitting up, and then Wesley had laid him back on the bed.

“Don't leave me,” Matt had said quietly, like a child about to be abandoned.

“I won't,” Wesley had replied, as he removed his tie & glasses.

“YOU. HOW  _COULD_ YOU?”

Wesley blinked up at Fisk, standing over them. Matt was still plastered along Wesley's side, one arm thrown carelessly across his chest.

“HOW _DARE_ YOU TOUCH HIM!” Fisk roared, and Wesley wasn't sure exactly who he was speaking to.

Fisk grabbed Matt's ankle and dragged him down the bed in one quick tug, waking him from his deep sleep.

“W-what's happening?” Matt stammered, his fingers twitching against the bare mattress.

Fisk opened his belt, and unzipped the fly of his expensive suit, and Matt twitched his head to the right, favouring his good ear.

“N-no. No, no, no, no,” Matt repeated, when he realised what was about to happen.

“No, sir, please,” Wesley said, raising a hand and sliding off the mattress. “Don't do this.”

“Shut up!” Fisk roared, as he pulled out his cock and started pumping it. He was hard in seconds, and he pulled down Matt's sweat pants, and lined himself up. “I'm going to teach you a lesson you should have learnt long ago.”

Fisk entered Matt in one punishingly fast move. No preparation. No lube. Matt was screaming.

As Fisk pulled out Wesley could see his cock was already streaked with bright red blood, then he slammed back in again, and started pounding in and out of the writhing body below him.

“Sir, please,” Wesley shouted over Matt's agonising wails of pain.

“Shut up!” Fisk shouted. “He has to learn. He has to learn who he belongs to. That he can't just take and take and  _take_ .”

Thankfully it was over quickly, and Fisk came with a grunt as he ground into Matt one final time. He pulled out, leaving a trail of blood behind him, spilling down Matt's pale thighs, and then tucked himself back into his pants.

Wesley breathed out a shuddering breath. Matt was injured, still moaning with with every panting breath, but this was fixable. As soon as Wilson left the room he would call for the medical staff, and they would fix this.

Fisk raised his arm, his hand curled into a fist and with an angry scream he punched Matt in the back of the head.

Matt's body immediately went stiff, and a choked sound came from his throat as his muscles started twitching, and he slithered off the bed on the floor.

Fisk leaned down, one foot planted either side of Matt's seizing body, and grabbed him by a handful of his t shirt, lifting him up off the floor, and he started to punch.

 

 

 

Wesley sat on the folding chair, listening to the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor, and the life support machine that was pushing air into Matt's unresponsive lungs.

The repair bill the team of surgeons the medical staff had called in was astronomical, and it had taken them almost a full day to drain the blood from Matt's skull, and to repair the internal injuries Fisk had inflicted upon him.

Matt had remained in a medically induced coma ever since, and Fisk had still ordered the E-Stim team to visit him twice a day, even though he had been warned it could cause his heart to fail.

Wesley found himself wondering if it would be better for Matt if he never woke up. The doctors had warned them that he would likely suffer permanent, lasting damage from the bleed in his brain, and more than once Wesley had found himself holding a finger to the off switch on the life support machine, contemplating what Matt would want.

“Don't do it,” Harry had said. “This isn't our choice to make.”

“We have to do something,” Wesley said, desperately.

“You know what we have to do,” Harry replied.

 

 

After two weeks Matt was woken from his coma, and even though the medical team claimed he wasn't suffering from any paralysis, and that he had surprisingly passed all their neurological tests, it was clear to Wesley that he was deeply unwell.

Matt slept for most of the day, and when he was awake he followed instructions without question or hesitation, but he never spoke unless he was asked a question, are rarely answered with anything other than whispered single words. It was like a light had gone out inside him, and it worried Wesley.

Harry's words kept playing over in his head.

_ “You know what we have to do.” _

Harry was right.

 

 

“Get out of my apartment now or I will break your face with my fist!” Foggy shouted. “I'm not joking. I know Kung Fu and I'm not afraid to use it.”

“Calm down, Nelson,” Wesley said, as he strode across the room.

Foggy edged backwards, picking up a lamp, and holding it up in front of himself. “I'm warning you.”

Wesley stopped, and said, “Matt's alive.”

“ _What?_ ” Foggy gasped, dropping the lamp, which shattered across the floor. “He's alive?”

“You were right,” Wesley said. “Fisk kept him prison-”

He was cut off as Foggy landed a punch square on his jaw, which sent him staggering backwards.

“You had him?” Foggy sobbed. “You had him  _all_ this time?”

“I'm getting him out of there, but I need your help.”

“Anything,” Foggy breathed.

Wesley took out a sheet of paper from inside his jacket pocket and handed it to Foggy. “I need you to be at this address at midnight, tomorrow night, but you need to start planning now. You need to get him out of the country straight away. Take him somewhere no one will ever find him.”

“I will,” Foggy replied, running his fingers over the paper.

“Don't mess this up, Nelson. His life depends upon it.”

“I'll be there,” Foggy said, as Wesley began to move towards the door. “Wesley?”

He paused at the door and turned, then Foggy asked. “Matt, is he OK?”

Wesley shook his head, and said, “No, he isn't.”

 

“I need you to wake up now, Matthew,” Wesley said, as he gently shook the sleeping man.

Matt made a questioning sound, struggling to overcome the grogginess that had plagued him since his head injury, then asked, “What's going on?”

“I'll answer your questions later, now come on,” Wesley said, as he pulled Matt by the arm and towards the door.

“No,” Matt said, dragging his arm out Wesley's grasp. “I can't go out there. Harry has a family. Fisk will-”

“You let me worry about Fisk,” Wesley said, as he grabbed Matt's arm again and pulled him through the door, and out through the control room, where David lay unconscious on the floor.

“Is he OK?” Matt asked.

“Drugged,” Wesley said, as he pulled Matt out into the corridor. “They'll find both David, and I, were drugged with a fast acting barbiturate that was placed in the coffee by your rescuers.”

“But what about Fisk?” Matt asked, as they walked swiftly down the corridor.

“I'm going to take care of him,” Wesley said, as they moved into the basement boiler room.

“You're going to kill him.”

“I am,” Wesley said. “When you are gone I'm going to take the service elevator up the penthouse and shoot both he and Vanessa in the head. It's such a shame that your rescuers took my gun after they drugged me and used it to kill my employer.”

They stopped abruptly, and Wesley bent down, placing his hands on the wheel that operated a hatch. He turned the wheel, and then lifted up the hatch. “Go down the ladder, and take the right hand tunnel. Follow it straight all the way. Do not turn. Do not go slow and do _not_ stop. Someone will be waiting for you.”

“Who?”

“Nelson knows you're coming. He's going to be waiting for at the other end.”

“Foggy,” Matt whispered. “Foggy's waiting for me.”

“He is, now go, Matthew. I only have fifteen more minutes before the cameras come back on. Harry can't keep control of the network for much longer.”

Matt climbed down onto the ladder, descending slowly, and then he paused, and looked up at Wesley. “Come with me?”

“I can't. Someone has to take care of Fisk, or you will never be free of him.”

Matt started to descend the ladder once more, and then stepped off it, into the stinking sewer water.

“Matthew,” Wesley called out to him, and he looked up. “Good luck.”

“Thank you, Wesley,” Matt replied, and then he was gone.

Wesley went upstairs, entered the penthouse, and shot Fisk and Vanessa dead.

 

 

 

The swiftness of the fall of Fisk's empire had surprised Wesley. He'd expected some kind of civil war, as criminal gangs fought for supremacy, but in the end it was all very quiet.

No one came for Wesley. He knew that several of Fisk's associates suspected that he had killed him, but no one seemed to care enough to do anything about it. Instead, Wesley had carried on with his duties of running of the facility.

He ordered that Matt's cell be dismantled and the doors to the rooms be boarded shut. He wanted no trace that they had ever even been there.

He heard from Nelson, who had somehow managed to get hold of an encrypted phone, on sporadic occasions. The first call was to tell him that they had got out of the country, and that they were safe, and then an enquiry as to whether Wesley had completed his plan, and Fisk was dead.

During the second call Nelson was obviously drunk and emotional.

“ _How could you stand there and watch them do that do him for THREE YEARS?”_ Foggy asked.  _“Don't you have a soul?”_

Wesley started to ask himself that question too.

“ _Matt tried to kill himself,”_ Foggy informed him during the third conversation.  _“This isn't the first time, but he damn near did it this time. Did you know he wants to be castrated? The doctor he asked to do it said no so, yeah, he decided death was a better option, but who can blame him, I mean he was raped pretty much every day for three years...”_

Wesley closed his eyes and listened to Nelson's words, knowing every single one of them was true. 

It was his fault.

 

It was nearly six months later when Wesley received a call from the encrypted phone again.

“Nelson, don't you think you should have called me before now and let me know if he was dead or not?” he snapped.

“ _Hi, Wesley,”_ a voice said softly.

“M-matthew,” Wesley stammered.

“ _I'm alive, by the way.”_

“I'm glad to hear it. How are you?”

“ _I'm good,”_ Matt replied.  _“I am now anyway.”_ Then he let out a laugh and said,  _“It's amazing what doctors will do for you when you get hold of a rusty razor blade.”_

“ That isn't funny, Matthew,” Wesley sighed. “But you got what you wanted?”

“ _100% infertile,”_ Matt replied.  _“I'm no use to anyone now.”_

“You didn't have to do that.  No one here is looking for you, Matthew. No one is going to come for you,” Wesley said.

“ _Maybe not from you,”_ Matt replied.  _“You set up quite the unique business model, so you never know when someone else might try to follow in your footsteps.”_

“ A good point,” Wesley replied, as he rubbed his forehead. He was quiet for a moment, and then said, “I'm sorry, Matthew. I'm sorry for everything that was done to you.”

“ _I know you are, and I wanted to thank you for letting me go,”_ Matt said quietly, but when he spoke again his voice took on a darker tone.  _“I also wanted to let you know that I'm training again, and even though I may never be what I once was, it'll be enough. If I ever, EVER, hear that you are doing something like this to someone else again, I will come for you, and I will stop you.”_

“I can assure you, I have no intentions of making the same mistake twice,” Wesley said.

“ _I'm glad to hear it,”_ Matt replied.  _“Have a nice life, Wesley. Pray you never see me.”_

The line went dead, and Wesley hung up the receiver.

He knew that he and the Devil would never cross paths again.


End file.
